by Everly Frost
Howl presses against me, forcing my hands hard up against his chest. The pressure makes it hard to move them, but I’m surprised he doesn’t try to capture my hands since I just told him I was going to take his Heartstone.
“You won’t succeed,” he says. “Only a gargoyle can handle a gargoyle heartstone. One touch and it will kill you, elf. What I’m trying to decide is whether to let you kill yourself.”
I don’t know if I should believe him. It’s bound to be a trick. I inch my hand across, trying to leverage my arm, my skin burning where it drags between us. I have one more trick up my sleeve.
Thunder.
The air thumps.
Thunder echoes out from me, freezing everything around us in a giant ripple. I can’t see much beyond Howl’s wings but all sound stops. For a moment.
And then the thump rushes back at me. My eyes widen as Howl blinks slowly, paused and concentrating, inhaling at the same time as if he’s sucking the effect of the thunder into himself, reversing it within seconds. Sound and movement strike up again and the fight resumes below us.
I didn’t get any closer to the heartstone. “How…?”
“We are evenly matched,” he says. “We could fight each other for days and neither of us would win.”
I grit my teeth and force my hand the final distance toward the heartstone. I’m a hairsbreadth away.
Howl peers down at my hand with amusement. “Do you really wish to die, little doll?”
At the last moment, when I’m about to curl my fingers around the heartstone, Howl lurches backward, releasing me from the pressure. At the same time, he gives himself leverage to wrench my hand away from the stone in a show of strength. He shoves both my arms back against the rock, pinning them bent upward beside me.
“It would be a shame to let you kill yourself… Storm Princess.” He leans in, his mouth close to mine, inhaling against my cheek. “You are more beautiful than the stories say.”
I shudder, repulsion racing through every nerve. “And you are more monstrous.”
He laughs, his chest rumbling and his hips pressing into mine. “I hear you are in need of a husband.”
I grit my teeth. I seriously miss my armor right now. It’s unbreakable—unlike the gray thermal suit I’m wearing. I would feel a lot safer if I was wearing it.
“Don’t worry,” he says, still chuckling. “I won’t bed you. You are far too fertile and I don’t want an heir. Especially not a half-caste.” His laughter dies and his mouth twists into a cruel line. “The only thing I’m uncertain about right now is whether or not to kill your friend.”
My eyes snap to where I last saw Jasper. I find him further to the right, kneeling in a sea of dead gargoyles, maybe twenty, even thirty. He has ended them swiftly and cleanly, but now his wrists are shackled, chains pulling his arms out straight on both sides of his body by gargoyles. Cassian stands on the back of Jasper’s calves, his claws pinning them against the rock. He pulls Jasper’s head back and holds a knife against his throat.
I struggle against Howl but he doesn’t budge. I’m pinned. The worst place I could be, and I let it happen willingly… I made the wrong choice…
Burning fear rushes through me as Cassian’s blade glints. Jasper’s weapon is thrown far to the right, resting at the Storm’s feet. She huddles against the rock face, hands over her eyes, sobbing.
I scream, “Storm!”
She shakes her head. “I can’t…”
“Storm! Please!”
Howl thinks I’m talking to myself. “You can scream for your power as much as you like, little doll. It won’t do you any good.”
The Storm lifts her head, her hair cascading around her pale face, but she doesn’t speak to me. She cries to Jasper. “I… can’t. I made a choice when I became the storm. Please understand, I can’t fight them.”
Frustration replaces my fear. What on earth happened when she created herself? Whatever it was, it’s caged her somehow.
Jasper can’t see either of us with his head tilted back. He calls, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
But it’s definitely not okay. I’m pretty sure I’ve felt all the emotions because now it’s rage that courses through me. Howl hasn’t pinned my hand and I have no idea if it will work, but I flick my wrist and force as much lightning through my pointed finger as I can. A thin stream of it sizzles through the air, punches through the chest of the gargoyle holding Jasper’s left arm, and leaves a gaping hole behind. I quickly follow with a second, and the gargoyle holding the other chain drops dead on the spot.
Cassian is next. But he wrenches Jasper’s head even further backward. “My blade is sharp, elf! If I fall, I will kill him.”
I hesitate. The blade shines back at me. Am I so sure about my aim that I could dislodge the weapon and not hurt Jasper?
Howl smiles. “I see the male elf means something to you.” He twists in Cassian’s direction. “Keep him alive. I will use him as leverage.”
Howl relaxes for the first time, seeming satisfied that he has the upper hand now. Hot anger boils through me. As two new gargoyles step forward and pick up the chains, dragging Jasper’s arms upward again, I flick two quick warning bolts at their feet. I shout, “No chains! No weapons! He stands on his own.”
Howl grins at me. “Do as she says,” he calls, and to me he says, “I’ll give you this concession, but only because I’ve lost enough soldiers today.” A curious frown crinkles his forehead as he continues to press into me, seeming happy to stay right where he is. “Cassian told me you carried a dead male with you. Where is he?”
I search for Baelen beside the Phoenix, amazed none of the gargoyles have collided with him. He’s not where I left him and my heart stops for a moment. Did they do something to him?
I scan left and then right, finally locating Baelen in front of the gargoyle wings at the entrance to the cave. His expression hasn’t changed. His eyes are still closed. The Storm gives me a bleak look, her shoulders slumped so far forward that her arms hang across her chest. “I moved him for you,” she calls, staring at the ground. “That, at least, I can do.”
A bemused expression flickers over Howl’s face as he follows my line of sight to Baelen. “How does a dead elf stand up?”
He slides both arms around my back, pulling me away from the rock while keeping me imprisoned. He calls to his soldiers, “One of you, throw the dead elf over the cliff.”
“No!” I shout, the breath squeezing out of my lungs as Howl crushes me tighter.
“He means something to you, too. Very interesting.”
I gasp, trying to breathe. I have nothing to brace my feet against, scrabbling against his legs, and gravity is forcing my ribs against Howl’s arms, making the circle around me even tighter. “They shouldn’t touch him if they want to live. You said you’ve already lost enough—”
Howl isn’t listening. He roars, “Throw him over the edge!”
The two gargoyles who I threw the warning shots of lightning at, position themselves on either side of Baelen and prepare to take hold of his shoulders. I hold my breath, partly because I’m not sure what will happen, but mostly because I’m finding it very hard to breathe. Black spots appear across my vision and the ledge below me begins to slide sideways. I blink and try to focus, feeling like I’m going to throw up…
In the middle of my fuzzy vision a bright spark of light suddenly glows, a small explosion that lights up the encroaching darkness. Shapes fall to the ground around Baelen’s feet. An awful burning scent fills the air.
“Well, this night is full of surprises.” Howl’s crushing arms press closer and closer as my head swims. I need to focus on his face, but it blurs while the sounds around me swim and swirl.
I gasp. “Air… need air…”
He shakes his head at me. “You bound your deep magic around that male. Even I won’t be able to remove the shield you placed on him. But at least now I understand what is missing from you.”
I make a last attempt to gain my
freedom, releasing all the lightning I have into my hands pressed against his chest. The deadly blaze pours through Howl into the air beyond us, but the gargoyles in the background keep clear this time.
Howl doesn’t react. I might as well be a butterfly beating at him. The last of my oxygen slips through my lips.
He leans over me, pressing his face close to mine. His lips caress my cheek and whisper into my ear, drawing out each word. “He holds your true power. If you hadn’t given it to him… well… even my heartstone might not protect me from you.”
He nuzzles my ear. “You would be truly formidable.”
Darkness takes over.
“Sleep now, little doll.”
13. Cassian
Howl drops the female elf’s unconscious body into my arms. He runs his fingers through her hair, pulling the strands to his nose and inhaling her scent deeply before he lets her go.
His pupils are dilated, his lungs filled with deep magic as he says, “Take her to the cells.”
He crosses to the concealed mouth of the deep springs where the dead warrior elf stands, only ten paces away. Howl stops to study him while the gargoyles mobilize into ranks around us.
I expected the female to be heavy because of her full-body armor, but she’s light. Her hair cascades across my arms. One arm flops downward, but I gather her up, holding her safe. I try not to inhale, but it’s impossible to ignore the scent of ice and clouds, just as she described herself.
The male elf stands only three paces away, released on Howl’s orders. The other gargoyles are avoiding him now. I guess they’re afraid that the Storm Princess will wake up and incinerate them if they appear anywhere near him.
The male elf takes a step toward me. He hides his fear for the female, but there are hints of it in the crease of his forehead, the worry around his mouth. “I can carry her.”
He doesn’t realize that we have to fly him off this cliff. Without wings, he can’t carry her through the air.
I check Howl’s location. He’s close by, but too intent on studying the warrior elf to listen to us. I shake my head, keeping my voice low. “She’s safer with me.”
A deep frown creases the male elf’s forehead. I don’t expect him to trust me. I held a knife to his throat and threatened to end his life. Little does he know that I could have ended him well before that moment. He’s a skilled and honorable fighter. The gargoyle bodies piled up around him, all clean, quick kills, without any torture or maiming. I held back the main army as long as I could before sending them in to fight him. But he’s only one elf and I’m trained to recognize all the openings. I could have stabbed him in the back multiple times.
“What is your name?” I ask.
His shoulders square. He’s clearly distrustful of me. As he should be. “I am Jasper of the House of Grace.”
I incline my head toward the female. “And hers?”
His eyes narrow, his frown deepening. As he speaks, he glances to the side, fixating on a spot close by the dead warrior. It looks like Jasper is studying the warrior elf, but his line of sight is slightly off. It’s odd the way he focuses on that bare spot as if he’s watching something closely. He says, “Her name is Marbella. She belongs to the House of Mercy.”
“Mercy?” I’m surprised. Over the years I’ve learned a little about elven culture and history. “Elves in the House of Mercy are slaves, aren’t they?” Like my clan used to be.
“They serve the House of Rath,” he says.
Rath. Now there’s a name I know well. The House of Rath is both revered and hated by gargoyles. There were rumors several years ago about a wild elf who hunted in the wastelands of gargoyle territory. Some gargoyles whispered that it was Baelen Rath himself—rumors I could never verify.
I turn to the dead warrior that Howl is studying, suddenly suspicious. I don’t know what Baelen Rath looks like. Neither does Howl. This could be him and we wouldn’t know.
Howl stands in front of the dead warrior, studying him intently. Howl is shorter, which is a rare sight, but if the warrior were not floating, they would be eye to eye, both massive males, bodies honed for war.
I glance at Marbella, disconcerted by the way she seems to fit perfectly in my arms. Her motives for crossing the border are a mystery to me. Only someone desperate would travel into Erador. If she were bringing a warrior like Baelen Rath here to the deep springs, perhaps she thought she could revive him. There’s no hope of that now. Not for him or for anyone.
A gargoyle appears with a sturdy basket gripped in his toe claws. I step back from Jasper, clearing my throat and raising my voice. The basket is big enough for him to crawl inside so we can fly him to the cells.
“Get inside,” I order. “You will come quietly or your journey will not be pleasant.”
To the waiting gargoyle army, I shout, “First and second legion, fly out!”
As the majority of the army flies away, Jasper refuses to budge. His hands twitch, seeking a weapon.
I growl a warning. “Do not resist, Jasper of the House of Grace. Not if you care about what happens to Marbella.”
His jaw clenches before he finally clambers inside the cage.
Right before the hatch closes, emerald light sparks at the corner of my vision.
I spin to Howl, surprised to see him drawing on his heartstone power, his wings pulsing with rivers of emerald energy.
He reaches out toward the warrior elf. The determined set of his features tells me he wants to test his power against whatever magic is protecting the other male.
It’s a reckless thing to do, even for him. The other gargoyles were incinerated the moment they made contact. Even if Howl isn’t killed, everyone around him will be.
“Third legion, fly out!” I shout, relieved when the final band of soldiers immediately takes to the sky. That leaves a handful of gargoyles, as well as Jasper and the male whose job it is to carry him.
Howl’s hand inches closer to the elf and the space between them sizzles. Electricity builds in the air around us, so thick that it steals the breath out of my lungs.
Behind me, Jasper shoves at the hatch to his cage so hard that it topples to the side. He scrambles out, his gaze on the same strange spot next to the warrior elf. His face turns pale, his reaction so intense that it’s almost as if he’s listening to a warning—
Howl’s hand connects.
His heartstone power connects with a force so strong that a storm ignites around us.
Flames blast outward. Scorching heat roars past Howl and rips straight toward me in a giant plume.
I twist, drop, and my wings shoot out, curling around Marbella—
The flames hit my back. Not ordinary flames. These are like scorched rocks pelting against my back and wings. I squeeze my eyes closed, roaring out the heat and fear, a burning scent filling my lungs. I try to stop breathing it in, try to hold still when all I want to do is run, but if I do, I’ll expose Marbella to the fire.
The roaring flames and fiery glow finally fade.
Dying screams wane into quiet.
I’m alive. I’m not sure how. My back should be burned to ashes, even if my wings would survive the blast.
I open my eyes.
Jasper crouches opposite me, his eyes wide, staring back at me. My wings stretch out on either side of him, forming a shield. I protected him from the blast.
I’m suddenly aware of a soft hand pressing against my heart. A cooling sensation radiates out from the point of contact against my chest. It’s soothing like… ice and clouds. I stare down at Marbella’s hand, deeply confused. Did she unconsciously protect me just now? Stop the heat of the flames? I can’t believe she would do such a thing. But I can’t deny that it’s the only reason I’m alive.
Ignoring Jasper for the moment, I check Marbella first: her fingers, feet, hair—all the exposed parts of her body. She’s unscathed, sleeping peacefully. In fact, her face has settled into an expression of such serenity, it’s breathtaking, almost as if the power blasting around us
was a comfort to her.
I snarl at Jasper, confusion making me angry. “Who is he? Who is the dead elf to her? Why does his power comfort her?”
Jasper’s lips compress. Refusing to answer me, he glances side to side at my wings, which protected him. The basket he was in is now a smoldering mess and the gargoyle holding it lies dead on the cliff.
Marbella saved me, but I saved him.
With an unhappy sigh, I turn to Howl.
He stands in front of the warrior elf, unmoving. Soft growls meet my ears from his angry mouth.
“King Howl?”
He casts me a sudden glare, snarling at me. “Get the elves to the cells, Cassian.”
As I turn away, his hand lowers to his side. Shock almost makes me freeze.
Howl’s palm is burned.
Burned from where he touched the warrior elf.
He has never suffered an injury while wearing the heartstone. He is indestructible. But in one evening, Marbella broke through his power and stabbed him in the heart, and the warrior elf she brought with her burned Howl’s hand.
A glance at Jasper tells me that he sees it too.
What is this feeling filling my chest? It can’t be hope, because hope is dangerous.
I pull Marbella to my chest and rise into the air, my wings blowing ashes across the cliff where dead gargoyles lay. I catch Jasper’s shoulders as I pass over his head, taking hold of his shoulders in my feet. I make sure my claws are retracted so I won’t cut him. It won’t be comfortable for him, but it’s better than leaving him with Howl.
Behind us, Howl pounds across the cliff face toward its edge, his power dragging behind him, lifting the dead warrior without touching him. He releases his wings, a cloud of anger settling around his features.
I pick up speed, carrying my captives away, as far from Howl as I can get them.
